Linear time, like a chrysalis, holds the body until the rhythm of nature beckons, emerging into collective consciousness .
What gives the spiritual meaning, is inspiring another through being . That place when the magicians table is in a balance. A collage of consciousness with cyclically found objects . Patterns of colouration expressive of anima. A reflective inhalation igniting your mind, body and heart. This gallery of living, finding objects that speak, exploring until that final piece brought to your eye fits. With all the other shapes, like a puzzle, mercurial, nurtured to fulfill your interpretation of gift, of life; a transmutation. I can reflect to my earliest memory the magical meetings that gave intent a harmonic ripple. A tingling of balance, that place between, when you know you disappear into an object you are painting or a shape you are carving, or an alphabet you are arranging into a verse that captures the sense of being part of this earthy existence.
That living trance
Remains of this day, this evening an inner warmth, beside such crystalline shimmering stars . While breaths exhale bubbles of a thought taken by a chilly breeze. A whisper of a story added once again to be held withing earths being. Moon just comes milky seeding evening east glow. Mars, oh mars a dolphin to the ship of the moon, together sky the western side of night stream. Somewhere inside my memory of today I watched clouds holding the aqua blue sky hostage, a peaceful direction, a trickle – spilled milk frozen forever in my moments gaze.
Some times I hear a voice that sends me away to another reality. But later find my way back to the sky. Clean there are cleaning the sky this mind becomes painted a picture in the moment. Cleaning the sky thoughtless till now I try to recall what bound me like a spell.
The spelling of beauty. This dormant place we wander, a way trailing words together. treasured in a forgotten wooden box, tucked away, recall from mind into letters, there were butterflies talking, a pattern new wolf spider tracing what the clouds were doing, her glisten of silk a line closer.
But it became the evenings trunk of the giant oak, that leans upward to the stars. That whispered my mind, to how they hold the stars into earth.
A person that sets themself in the center of the circle, becomes the reflection of mother earth, and is watched very closely by spirit.
When; yes when memories string together.
Pollen dropped at the entrance of the hive, sweet full colours lay. Bowl of water brought to my lips, sighed into my thoughts, the inner pictures of life that quenched their bodies and swam between oceans dream. This bowl of water mirrors this sky while a pearlized scallop of a cloud reflects by. Take a deep steady inhale quenched in the moment .
This mornings waning moon sailed through starry shimmering winds,
catching breath meeting the rising sun. My hair tendril-ing to the voice of the spring leaves, in a hush deeply filling the between, understanding this beauty surrounding,
earth she hears my voice.
Horizontal halo of eastern midnight clouds, the blouse of sparkling constellations surround this scalloped cream between. For this late evening moon, casts her light behind, defining this scalloped wonder.
Kindred, connect the stars, intuitive the dream drawn,
while planets follow toward moon set.
This mornings Burnt Orange yoke of the sun rose flattened as described.
Seed white moon shimmering into the western horizon, feeling the mirror of last night turned the other way around .
Tonight before the sun twilight, young fresh Cedar Waxwings playing between live oaks filling their instinct, catching dinner in flite. Moon waning from full, always overhead birds fly, so silver grey amidst the occasional blue birds, each mask so outlined in pewter cloud cream, with head crest unfolding to the backlit setting sun, following their flit to the wisteria, spiraling this heart into space.
Early morning rain – light infilling senses dream – wind in thought caught quenched – wakened earthly pulse, other earth swallowed moist light with her table of souls, for she quietly remembers and combines senses into fruition an alchemy with light.
Circles in cirle the spiraling sol system, earth we know turns by counting the Big Dipper walk around Pole Star, the trees with emerging green say from the fallen winter branches, build the nest of spring colours.
“Cool glass of water please!” That which you drank today, filled the carved crystal goblets of the Pharaohs, and quenched the thirst of Jaguars, lapped from the bowl of jungle foliage.
” May I have a glass of water, With Ice Please. ”